Cause you know that I’m always all for you
by The Readers Muse
Summary: It was the kind of moment that had them all wishing they had a video camera for, not just for proof and future blackmail purposes, but all knowing that Garcia was never going to shut up about being stuck at the police station and missing it all....
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Criminal Minds or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** This is mainly a general fic or team fic (omg me writing general!? The world is probably coming to an end or something I am sure). However there are clear references of Emily/Rossi and BLANTANTLY obviously schmoop and etc for Reid/Hotch. Nothing huge though, this could be considered to be mainly a general team ficlet (if you squint). In the first chapter anyway...

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. This is my first Criminal Minds story so I am especially looking for feedback.

***This story will be a two parter. So let me know if you would like to see the second part. Depending on the response, since I have like...oodles of half finished ficlets on the go right now, I will determine if there is enough interesting in the story to continue. Especially since this is my first foray into Criminal Minds fanfiction.**

-Story's title is lyrics from the song: "What if" by Safteysuit. I would recommend listening to it as you read, I wrote it while I had it on replay, and it provided me with a tone or mood in which to write.

**Cause you know that I'm always all for you **

"_Courage is __fire__, and bullying is smoke." - Benjamin Disraeli_

None of them sensed the fire until it was almost too late.

They had all been up for close to fifty hours straight, none of them stopping long enough to have more then a few power naps each on one of the few thread-bare and slightly lumpy couches that decorated the break room of Battle Mountain, Nevada's aging station house. Everyone was strung out on too much coffee, not enough sleep, and that certain kind of stress that only comes from a case with a kidnapped toddler.

Tensions were as high as the stakes, and hearts were clenched tightly in all their chests as the hours past, and all the progress they seemed to be making was watching the two young parents, both rising professors at the local college get progressively more and more hysterical, breaking down unashamedly in each others arms, as the mother, a striking red head, made heart wrenchingly, broken noises from the shelter of her husbands arms, his strong frame racked with his own grief as he buried his pale face in her rich curls. It was the kind of case that hit just a little bit too close to home...for all of them.

So when they finally found her, safe and sound in an old play pen shoved inside a weather beaten trappers cottage in the middle of the backcountry, all messy red curls, sticky fingers, and cooing up at them all happily, they couldn't help but nearly collapse in relief.

It wasn't long after the suspect had been secured that they had all collectively crowded around the rickety old playpen, their smiles turning delighted, wide, and indulgent as the little toddler immediately fastened her attention on their leader, sparing little attention to anyone else as her pudgy little arms went straight up into the air, babbling happy nonsense at him as she clearly demanded to be held.

It had been the kind of moment that had almost the whole team wishing they had a video camera for, not just for proof and future blackmail purposes, but all knowing full well that Garcia was never going to shut up about being stuck at the police station going over grainy security footage and missing it all.

But quite quickly all thoughts of Garcia's future tantrum faded into the background because Hotch's face had softened, and a look of such relief and pleasure had spread across his face as he bent down and scooped her up, a rare, full-blown grin smoothing over his normally stoic features as she wriggled into him happily, grubby little fingers digging into his short black hair, patting and poking at his chin and cheeks before twisting downwards to investigate the hard edges of the bullet proof vest he wore with the full blown curiosity that only a two year old could so fully express.

And even then, everyone was still just a bit too punch-drunk on the rookie's well meant, but utterly failed attempts at making the 'city folks' what could only be _loosely_ termed as 'espresso', not enough sleep, and the sheer relief of the moment to notice the way Hotch's eyes went soft in a whole other way when Reid's long fingered hand somehow found it's way over to trickle a little pink socked foot, eliciting a high pitched giggle from the ginger haired girl, a big goofy grin spreading across his features as the toddler eyed his playfully waggling fingers closely, somehow wiggling in Hotch's arms in a way that she could stick a pudgy little leg out, as if to encourage more tickling before lurching it away as his fingers neared, childish peals of laughter echoing all the way up to the tree tops as she laughed at her own cleverness.

And soon, even if anyone _had _seen the look the two men had shared, their eyes suddenly meeting over the top of her curly red-haired head, it was all forgotten in the next moment, when the tot chose that moment to stick her tiny fingers in between Hotch's slightly parted lips, squealing in glee when he didn't miss a beat and pretended to gnaw on her little fist, seeming entirely oblivious to the fact that he still had an audience, a very.._rapt_ audience at that!

But then, maybe a heartbeat later, everyone else was suddenly laughing too, amused chuckles turning into genuine peals of laughter as the tension finally broke, with relief, happiness, and that particular type of giddiness that only come from the type of near perfect end that a case like this brought, dousing them all to the skin in it's unchecked emotion.

And for the first time in a long time, a deep throated laugh joined them, it was rumbling, and slightly hoarse, as if it hasn't been used in a long time, but it was real and genuine, and it was contagious. And soon girlish giggles joined in the teams laughter, the girls little face scrunched up in mirth, as she attempted to duplicate her first comedic act, fingers flying dangerously close to Hotch's lips again but not quite being able to reach until Morgan's big hands lightly tickled at her protruding little baby belly, and everyone started laughing all over again.

She was still chattering away, grinning and pointing around with chubby fingers at her new surroundings excitedly, one fist curled tightly in the collar of Hotch's shirt, as she began to investigate his ear bud in earnest, still poking at it curiously as the paramedics screeched onto the scene, her bright green eyes still taking in the helplessly relieved laughter of the others, as they watched their stoic leader reduced to mere putty in her capable little hands.

For once they left the arrest of the deranged female unsub to the local leo's, barely making it back to the police station to fill out the paper work, and watch the tearful, relieved reunion of the family, before they all piled back into the SUV's and drove back to their hotel rooms where they could they could all pass out properly. With everyone just a bit too tired to notice the way Hotch watched Reid from the drivers side mirror, the younger agent having conked out in the backseat almost before he had finished buckling himself in, his tousled head half resting on Garcia's shoulder who in turn was quite frankly sprawled across half of Morgan's, the three of them already dozing before they had even reached the highway.

The waxing afternoon gave away to the soothing darkness of night, but none of them were up to appreciate it, with the moonlight charm of the mountainous background, the stars standing out bolder and brighter then in the city going unnoticed and unappreciated as they slept on, with luck giving them nearly ten uninterrupted, hours of rare, restful, dreamless, nothingness.

But fate is a force that is dictated by no man, it follows no clock, or moral code, and it waits for no one. So, when the small explosion shivered up the ten storey lakeside hotel, it didn't matter that it was four in the morning, or that the only ones that could have noticed the small implosion of gas and splintering metal were the employees that were caught in the blast itself, with even the early morning desk clerk having been down in the kitchens where it had all taken place, cajoling a few oven fresh bagels out of the bleary eyed chef. It also didn't matter that the first floors alarm and sprinkler system failed, letting the small gas fire grow, licking across the counters, and consuming the chairs and tables of the dining hall until it burned into the walls, digging into the hardwood and insulation, until it finally shorted out the electric circuits, the power fizzling out with a mangled electronic keen as trails of fire dripped up through the walls, digging deep into the wooden beams, slowly melting fibreglass and plastics, as simmering flames scorched menacingly at the metal.

_What mattered_ was that the fire was raging before the secondary alarm system finally kicked in, the blaze far too intense now to be fully controlled by the merger little water sprinklers. _What mattered_ was that there were ten floors of rooms in the nearly empty hotel, and the team was on the fourth, and that smoke was already creeping under the doors, sneaking into the lungs, their sleep deep, senses dulled by exhaustion and already hampered by the steadily disappearing oxygen.

The smoke burned, it sunk deep into the skin until you could actually feel your cells dying, feel the oxygen in them shrivel, twist, and close off. It was like dying while you were still alive and whole, still mostly conscious and alert as your lungs started struggling to draw breath through the thick grey and black sludge, your eyes streaming with unbidden tears until you aren't sure if it just the smoke that is making you cry, or something else entirely...

The smoke does strange things to the mind, it veils almost everything in darkness, the shadows become monsters in the black, while it illuminates certain things until they are bright beacons in the gloom. It leaves the taste of acid on your tongue, deadening the taste buds, and yet it heightens ones hearing until you swear you can hear every crackle, every creak, hiss, and pop of the flames until it is all that is echoing in your mind, leaving you deaf to all the rest, making the screams and cries around you turn warped and distorted, blanketed and hushed amidst the grey blackness.

But mostly it make a lot of normally really complicated things seems painfully simple.

So no one really commented on the fact that the first room Rossi had run for was Emily's, or that he had kicked down the door with a near desperate curse when his door shaking knocks had elicited nothing from inside. Or that he had remained there, in the middle of the hallway, his sharp eye's fixed on that stubborn whitewashed door, choking on the billowing smoke of the hallway despite the handkerchief pressed against his mouth as he squared his shoulders, his eyes flashing and fierce as he struck forward with a wordless shout and broke inside, bits of the door splintering off at all sides from the sheer force of his kick.

He wasted no time, the fire now glowing ominously through the broke door, the room already veiled in a thickening layer of grey as he half-hauled the woman from her blankets, grasping her by the loose drawstrings of her old university sweats, easily supporting her weight as he towed her out of the room, the fire licking at the walls only a few rooms down as they burst from the door frame, their pace jerky as slow as she hung from his grip limply, far too groggy to be catalogued as anything but the beginnings of smoke inhalation.

And no one would have really commented on how he had yelled at her, hitching her closer into the shelter of his chest as he shook her, his voice taking on a urgent, and worried quality that rarely left his lips as he slapped her cheeks, leaning in until his lips were brushing her ear, shouting and yelling for her to wake up as he wrenched them through the hallway, escaping through the last corridor and rounding the corner just as a burst flame exploded out from the wall behind them. Leaving them no choice by to continue towards to stairs, with the petite dark haired woman in his arms just begin to fully waken, shaking her head, vainly trying to break the smokes hold. Not yet realizing yet that without him, she would have never woken up.

And neither did anyone comment when they stumbled out from the building, his arm firm and possessive around her waist, his grip just a bit too tight and steady to be considered as the helping hand of a team mate, or how her ebony head pressed right into the curve of his shoulder, her idle hands dancing from her sides, to the empty air, brushing down his side, before resting for a moment on his singed coat sleeves, smoothing down his unrolled shirt cuffs before repeating the same nervous cycle all over again.

No one would have been really surprised at Derek's heart wrenching moment of indecision when he stumbled out of his own room, coughing and shouting, his jeans only half done up as he called out, his team members names getting swallowed in the gloom, taunting him with half formed echoes and no answers. The smoke even played tricks on his eyes as it swirled and thickened, testing him with shadows of figures that seemed solid one moment, but then disappeared into nothingness only a second later.

His eyes flickered from Garcia's room two doors down, to Reid's at the other end of the hall. His voice hoarse as he wordlessly bellowed his frustration, fist slamming against the wall so hard it shook the plaster, before as he made his decision and ran for his baby girl, mind screaming until it almost drowned out the sound of JJ as she wrenched her own door open only a few seconds later, her blond, sleep mussed hair flying as she whirled, lithe fingers still buckling on her side arm as she looked around, her eyes wide as she took in the flames, and the smoke, spotting Morgan a few doors up, shirtless and barefoot as he sprinted across the ember strewn carpet.

She didn't even hesitate when Morgan saw her, motioning that he was fine before he cried out only a quick: "Get Reid!" at her, his fist already pounding on Garcia's door as JJ took off. Her small feet beating down the burning hall, smoke thickening until it forced her to her knees, the fire crackling along the baseboards, the scent of singed hair and burning clothing becoming so much that she could taste it, feel it coating her tongue until she was gagging on it, retching up burning, acrid air as she forced herself forward.

But she couldn't reach the door in time, because right then, the window beside it warped and then shattered with the heat, and that sudden whoosh of air that came tumbling through fanned the fire to a roar. And in only a few seconds, faster then she could move or even react, the flames were climbing the walls and burning into the ceiling above her, and the fires that had been slowly simmering in the walls around them exploded outwards, enveloping Reid's door and the walls surround it in a wreath of angry reds and oranges, and to her, in that moment, the world might have well as gone up in flames as well, her ears and eyes filled with the sight and sound of that damning flame.

She screamed out wordlessly, the sound mangled and almost animal in its grief, in the sheer agony and frustration of being unable to go any farther, yet being just as unable to leave. And as she struggled to breathe, all she could see was a horrifying double image in front of her. Because Reid's door had suddenly turned into that farm, with the moonlight illuminating the run down barn, where beyond it all she could see was the swaying corn fields in the distance, the usual smells of a rural farmstead overpowered by the sickly sweet, yet metallic smell of fresh blood, and the sour tang of human sweat.

She was back there, back where horror had a taste, and guilt was an emotion that she could feel enveloping her like a second skin. And slowly, as she watched the carpet a few meters in front of her spit, and crackle into flame, she realized that _this_ was the same feeling, that looking up at that burning door gave her the same feeling that she had had before. The feeling that she had failed the younger man all over again.

And she still saw it, even when her eyes had slowly shut, seeing that dilapidated, run down farm house..the horrors of her failure still spread out mockingly across the computer monitors, flickering across the inside of her closed lids even when Derek reached her, hoisting her up by her waist and away from the little patch mosaic carpet that she had slumped over on, unmoving, unable to breathe in the cloying thickness.

She hardly even noticed as the bigger man easily yarded her out of the tunnel of flames, finding that everything had gone strangely numb, like she was about to break out in a case of pins and needles, with everything slowing down, _slow..going so slow.. _And it was almost a relief because it was stopping her from thinking about that door, about Spencer.._again._

But then, quite suddenly, they broke through the thickest barrier of smoke. And then everything was spinning again, everything was confused and strange. Breathe? It seemed like a strange concept, and it wasn't until Morgan smacked her hard across the back, yelling at her to take a _god damned breath_ before she passed out, that she realized that she still hadn't.

She was still sucking in shuddering, grateful little breaths when Garcia suddenly appeared, emerging out of the blackened air like something out of a demented version of a Disney fairy tale, her blond hair loose and glinting in the harsh, erratic light, a brightly coloured scarf held up to her face, inching up her nose until it sent her glasses hanging slightly askew, her eyes blown wide in panic and worry under the winged frames.

But she had no time to really absorb any of this, because then Garcia was right there, talking quickly to Morgan, as she pressing up against his mocha brown skin so she could take one of her arms. She wanted to say something, to tell them, to ask them about the others...but when her mouth formed their names, the sound was lost in the snarling roar of the fire.

Finally, Morgan wrenched them forward, unable to do anything as the fire began to race them down the corridor, and they had to stumble away, the fire leaving them with no choice but to hope that the others had made it out ahead of them as the ceiling of the hallway behind them began to give way..

The three of them stumbled out of the fifth floor's fire escape, having to climb up to the next floor, pushing determinedly through the rising smoke to find a safe route to the rickety metal staircase that bordered the outside of the older building. They yelled at the panicking people around them, trying to instil order in the chaos but few stopped to listen, preferring to make their own way through the glowing, ember red gloom.

When their feet finally met with solid ground, their limbs were already trembling with the heady, explosive mixture of exhaustion and adrenaline, lungs rebelling at the sudden clarity of the air, leaving them hacking, their faces streaming with smoky tear as they fought for breath, barely registering the wail of emergency sirens in the distance as they sped down the highway towards them, preferring to huddle into each other collectively as they sought to regain their breath.

Seconds...maybe minutes later they were spotted by Rossi and Emily, and everyone's faces turned momentarily relieved and grateful, hands fluttering and pressing at each other's shoulders and sparse night clothes as if to reassure themselves, as if they could find reassurance in the solidity they found there...and they did...they did until the empty spaces in their circle became horribly apparent.

They looked up as one, eyes alert and clear for the first time in hours, searching, expecting to see them emerge out of the billowing smoke and falling ash at any moment. They fully expected to see their leader emerge, looking every inch the lead FBI profiler, still decked out in his black suit and red tie, still whole and immaculate, as if even the fire didn't quite dare to touch him. They expected to see Spencer emerge at his heels, his long, colt-like legs unsteady, his clothes singed, rumpled, and ash-covered, but looking for all the world as alert, and alive as he always did, his big doe eyes blinking hugely as he took it all in, worry lines etched into little furrows between his eyebrows until he saw the rest of them safe and whole, before the hint of that still so innocently open, and pleased smile twitched at the corners of his lips, his eyes going pleased and soft as he took them all in.

But the exits that only seconds before had been teeming with coughing, and yelling guests was now trickling to a sluggish stop... And none of them had expelled a big-eyed, messy haired youth, or a tall, hard-edged, sable haired man. _There was nothing...They weren't there._

Hotch and Reid...they were missing...

"_A little fire is quickly trodden out, which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench." - William Shakespeare_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Criminal Minds or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside._

**Warnings:** This is mainly a general fic or team fic (omg me writing general!? The world is probably coming to an end or something I am sure). However there are clear references of Emily/Rossi and BLANTANTLY obviously schmoop and etc for Reid/Hotch. Nothing huge though, this could be considered to be mainly a general team ficlet (if you squint). In the first chapter anyway...

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. This is my first Criminal Minds story so I am especially looking for constructive feedback.

***Okay, so I might have fibbed just a titch. I realized, as I was writing this chapter that it was going to be faaaaar too long. So, lets say it is now going to be a 3 parter. Thanks for all your comments and review! You guys are awesome!**

Also a big thanks to my anonymous reviewers: Natalie, M, and anyone else that had reviewed incognito thus far, I like to personally respond to all my reviews as a rule, and since I cannot do that for you, here's a big thank you from me here! I appreciate all your kind comments, encouragement, and advice.

-I would recommend listening to "Do it alone" by Sugarcult as you read, I wrote this chapter while I had this song, (my new guilty pleasure) on replay, and it provided me with a tone or mood in which to write.

**Cause you know that I'm always all for you - Chapter 2**

_**'I don't wanna do it alone, I'm beggin' you, I don't wanna do it alone...'**_

"_When fire is applied to a stone, it cracks ." - Irish proverb_

Reid had never slept well. Since his childhood he had always slept with one ear perpetually attuned for any strange noises, or words, always aware that his mother's demons knew no sense of time or common decency. So even in his sleep, as early as he could remember, some part of his brain had always remained alert, half-poised to go to her when she cried out, not simply just to bring her her pills, but more importantly to just be there, often falling asleep at her side, curled up around her, as if his thin, boney little frame could hold back the monsters the only she could see, and the people only she could hear.

During his first year of university, he had once attended a special guest lecture from a visiting Crime Psychologist in the FBI. The man had been young, or at least young for the FBI, likely in his early thirties, the gold band on his ring finger looking far too shiny and new to be any more then a few weeks old at best, and yet he was already prematurely balding, something that could still be clearly seen despite the man having obviously opted to shave his head then to keep up the facade of a full head of hair.

However, it was his words that had truly captured him, his tone, his body language and his way of speaking had all belayed a steady confidence that he, as a skinny little whip of a child admits a sea of young adults had immediately admired. Throughout the core of his lecture the man had stated that a child should _never_ have to bear the responsibility of protecting their parents. And to his day, he found himself torn on the issue, certainly a child should not be forced to accept the responsibility of adulthood before their due time, but regardless, as he had discovered not only throughout his own adolescent and teenage years with his mother, but indeed in his years with the BAU, life was rarely that black and white, he had seen children lie, maim, and even kill to protect their mothers and fathers, whether they were innocent, guilty or otherwise.

_Loyalty, devotion, and love were powerful emotions, regardless of the age or circumstance. _

And so, even in sleep, he had tried to protect his mother, only at the time, he didn't yet fully understand that what he was trying to protect her from was akin to a segueing army battering down the walls of quivering fortress stronghold, the attacking army could certainly be held at bay, but in all likelihood, they would never completely leave.

But since...since Tobias Hankle, sometimes he didn't sleep at all. As the months and years had passed, he had gotten better, and most nights he could even say the next morning that he had slept soundly, able to put aside the nightmares in favour of other things. It was something that he had hardly dared to hope for, and it was steadily getting better as the years passed and the emotional scars slowly began to heal. Yet another thing that the BAU appointed therapist had insisted would happen if given enough time, and properly addressed. _Perhaps he owed the entire counselling profession an apology after all._

But sometimes, sometimes he still had those nights. Nights where he was half afraid that if he closed his eyes he would be back there, back in that chair, back to the splintering pain in his feet, and the drug-educed haze of his mind. That he would be still there, handcuffs sinking, and biting into the delicate flesh of his wrists as his face throbbed out a dull, pain-deafening tempo from the blows, his own blood crusting and flaking along his skin, forming taunt, disgusting layers as fresh crimson streaked his pale skin, masking what had flowed down before.

He was afraid that he would be back to the moment where he had been covered in dirt, blood, and sweat, with mud smeared so deeply into his skin that it appeared to be coming out of his own pores....

Back to the moment where his pained, and exhausted muscles had bunched and released...bunched and released..again, and again in a horrific, and pounding rhythm as he dug out his own grave. Smelling the stench of his own body as it melded together with the scent of freshly turned earth and the biting metallic scent of his own fear, where with each moment that passed, and each painstakingly unsteady shovelful that he raised up, he fully expected it to be his last, to be dead before his ears even registered the telltale sound of the bullet leaving the barrel, being dead before his neurons stopped firing, a neat hole drilled through his temple, leaving him mangled and maimed for the others to see when the stumbled upon him too late. He remembered how he had thought, even then, as he had thrown up yet another shovelful, before his sagging eyes had picked up the growing pin picks of light in the forests behind them, before he had seen _his team...his family_ coming for him..he had remembered hoping that they would have found some comfort in knowing that he would have felt little pain...

_It was a small comfort, but at the time it had been all he had had to offer them.._

But that bullet never came; instead he had used the bullet that in all rights had his own name on it from the beginning, to end the torment of his own captor, a man who in his own strange, unfortunate way, had been just as much a captive and a victim as he had been.

And it was on those nights where the only thing that stopped him from just curling up into himself and silently howling out his fear and horror was the smell of the man, the man who he had reached for him in those first, relieving, terrible, and exhilarating moments. The smell grounding him, reminded him, and reassured him.

Even without an eidetic memory he knew he would remember that smell for the rest of his life. Hotch had smelt like the deodorant the man kept in his to-go bag, the label being some bastardized combination of Old spice and Endurance, he knew because he had once furtively read the entire ingredient list as he waited for a free shower stall after a training session. There had been the hint of sweat, starched collars, dryer sheets and worry. There had also been the hint of steel and metal from the bullet proof vest, the scent of wet moss and the thick must of the forest that clung to the edges of his shirt sleeves. But mostly the man had smelt like strength… like..safety, and completion.

He had never known that such things had a smell, but those days had taught him many things, that fear and fresh blood smelled eerily alike, that evil had many faces, some of which that were even the same, but that it was the eyes that always gave them away. He had learned that acts of strength and desperation could be mistaken for each other, and that he was both stronger and weaker then he had ever realized. He had learned once again, in a most brutal, and vicious fashion, that to read about the effects of emotional and physical torture was all fine and good, but to experience them was something very different entirely.

He had learned what true numbness and release felt like, he had experienced the act of fully, and completely letting go, feeling his mind and body surrender itself into the power of a drug that for the first time in his life had soothed his ever thrumming mind to a halt, and for a little while...every had been so quiet..

In only two days he had been witness to both the worst and the best examples of humanity, and while in that moment, as he had looked down at Tobias's empty eyes, while he should have been overwhelmed by the evil, focusing on the horror and the pain, instead in that moment... he had felt so utterly and entirely alive...so _human _in that moment, that he still truly didn't know if the emotion could ever be accurately quantified.

But also, and maybe even more importantly, he had learned that a man, a strong, hard man that hardly smiled, and rarely laughed, a man so stoic and still could also give, and embrace him back. That his face, all hard lines and fierce eyes could soften and for a moment, press intimately into his neck, his hands gentle but steady against his filth-caked back as his fingers pressed into the red wool of his sweater, his arms seeming to envelop him so fully, and so completely, that for that moment it had felt as though he had belonged there, fit there, and had been meant to always be there.

But despite the fact that he might have strayed from the original point of these musings, his brain unsurprisingly jumbled and confused with the exhaustion of the past few days, with a kidnapped toddler and a set of devastated parents, the point that he had been attempting to dwell on from the very beginning, as he was just regaining awareness, still half-wrapped in the comforting weight of the hotel sheets and the over washed comforters, was one simple fact...he _still_ didn't sleep well...

So _that's _why he was caught by surprise when for no reason at all, he startled wide awake with the acidic taste of burning on his lips, and the strangest realization that the red haze he was seeing cast against the white washed walls, was actually the flickering, metallic reflection of a fire burning inside the Hotel walls through the air vent beside his bed.

It was only a few seconds after that realization, as he blinked owlishly through the darkening gloom and the eerily growing red haze, that he realized that his room was half filled with smoke.

_Fire!_

Statistics and relevant portions of medical journals flickered through his brain like microfilm. _Fire. _So he knew immediately that the fog that was steadily pressing against his brain like a deceptively comfortable blanket wasn't simply just the confused remnants of sleep, or the trailing vestiges of days of exhaustion, it was something far more serious and sinister, like the irresistible sound of a siren song, the beautiful and murderous melody that came from the throats of half woman, half bird like temptresses that lured their victims into a willing, and accepting death.

He was out and tripping over the comforter and bed clothes before his brain even had a chance to catch up to his body, an arm snatching up his tan satchel without even thinking about it, thoughts rushing through his brain about the paper work it contained as he by-passed the bay windows to peek out his doors peep-hole. _He didn't have much time. _

_'Move Spencer...Move!' _

And without much thought he tripped to the bathroom, his long arms sending the tiny little bottles of complimentary shampoo and individually wrapped bars of soap clattering noisy onto the cheap bathroom title as he soaked a handful of towels in the shower tub. Tying one around his mouth and draping the others over his arms and head as he ran for the door, mindless of his faded t-shirt and his thin, threadbare plaid pj pants, or the awkward way his stupid satchel banged across his right hip as he moved.

It had been worse then he'd thought when he opened the door, the knob already hot under his delicate palms, the hallway thick with smoke, and a fire and he didn't need to be a genius to know burned right underneath his fingertips, beneath a thin mask of wallpaper and plaster, the fire had moved into the walls as well, ready to explode outwards at any moment.

_They were out of time._

He didn't yell for the others, he couldn't find his voice amidst all the smoke and flame. He could hardly breathe let alone call out, the smoke and fire being worse on his side of the hallway then were the other were.

'_The fire must be worse on the floor below then..the main intake vent was on this side...that's how it was climbing so fast..more oxygen_.' His mind raced, flickering eyes taking in the white pained vents build into the wall by the window. _They had to evacuate the building..It was going all the way up!_

The others! Where were they!?

But before he could move, the tightness in his chest lifted a bit as Rossi came crashing out of his door, inexplicably fully dressed in his suit and trousers, tie hanging loose, and half flung around in neck, but still looking larger then life in the wreathing smoke, a handkerchief pressed over his mouth as he surveyed the scene, not seeing or hearing Reid's yells in the gloom and crackle of the flames as he crossed to Emily's door, his face morphing into an expression he had never seen on the senior agent before as his door shaking knocks produced nothing. But before he could move to help him, a wordless yell ripped from the mans lips as he flung himself forward, his foot and shoulders meeting with the door in a vicious crunch, sending it splintering inward as he disappeared inside and out of view.

It seemed like only seconds later that Morgan shot out of his room, voice echoing eerily in the gloom and he called out, his jeans not even fully done up, obviously having been woken like him from a dead sleep. And as he watched the man look back and forth, body tilting towards Garcia's room to his...it was right then that he realized just _why he_ was still standing there, why he hadn't been able to move from the smoking carpet towards the others, standing smack the midst of the choking smoke and encroaching flames. _Hotch._

_Hotch's room wasn't on this floor...he was on the one below..._

His eyes swung from the stairwell right beside him, and the flames that were already thick behind it, easily seen through the tiny window of glass, over to the others down the hall before he made his own decision and ran for the stairs. For once ignoring his brain which was telling him that this was definitely going down on the list of one of the more stupid things he had ever done, before he swung the remaining dripping wet towels over himself and hit the door at a dead run.

The flames had been hot, the towels sizzling and smoking fire as nipped quite literally at his heels, the soles of his shoes sticking strangely to the ash strewn carpet, and then the linoleum tipped stairs as he raced down them, trying to avoid the falling embers, and staying as far away from the walls as possible as they burned in a strange patchwork of fire and gaping black holes around him, the roaring flames seeming to pull the very oxygen from his lungs as he struggled in vain to breathe.

But then suddenly he was out, the red glow of the exit sign blinding him for a brief second as he fumbled with the hot door handle, his long limbs flying as he emerged into an even more chaotic version of the floor above.

There were flames enveloping rooms here, a few of them already fully engulfed, doors still swinging crazily as if their occupants had only just vacated them. He could hear yelling, people panicking, disappearing and reappearing throughout the gloom, pushing past him, yelling at him as they fled from the encroaching fire. There was so much smoke that even through the sopping towel around his face; he found he couldn't catch his breath.

But then he was finally there, at Hotch's door, the flames _so god damn close_ down the hall that he could feel the hair on the top of his arms prick up with the heat. And his heart sank, the door was closed and locked.

_The man must still be inside.._

But he couldn't let himself dwell on that...he couldn't. Because there were only a few reasons why Hotch would still be in his room at a time like this, and none of them were good.

There was no answer to his panicked shouts, or knocks, and he threw his shoulders against the door in vain, feeling it rattle and buckle but not break. But he didn't have the breath to curse, because right then his eyes spied the fire axe across the hall, and before he could fully think the action through, his bad leg twinging warningly as it met with the safety glass.

He went after the door with the axe, his inexperience with the tool and his panic making his strokes awkward, the angle and speed all wrong, taking chunks out of the door instead until he got ridiculously lucky and the knob broke off, the axe and knob seeming to hit the carpet at the same time, as he wrenched the door open and rushed through.

"Hotch!... Hotch!" He yelled, half falling into the room in his haste, momentarily floored as a quick sweep of the room revealed nothing, only just realizing that the man could have already made it outside before he had gotten there, after all, the doors locked automatically...

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! _His mind chanted as he coughed, desperately trying to breathe through the smoky air as his hands scrabbled against the walls, mind registering there heat, and the growing structural weakness of the plaster and wood beneath them as his body sought to regain its equilibrium, his brain finding it much harder to make full sense of his surroundings then it normally should have.

'_Smoke inhalation!' _It screamed, the words jumbled but echoing in his brain, only to be drowned out by an equally as fierce shout that actually left his lips, his throat expelling Hotch's name to the four surrounding walls that only threw back his words in a mocking, smoke muted echo.

He sagged against the wall, not even noticing when one of the sodden towels slipped off his shoulders and fell onto the floor with a wet splat. Instead he forced his mind to focus, he was missing something..._he could feel it_. He knew it, knew it like he had simply _known_ that the man would be here. _There had to be something.._

He let his mind work, ignoring the acrid tang of the encroaching fire and the dangerous heat, the bubbling wallpaper under his palms, the thickness of the air, and the panicked tension in his limbs in favour of letting his eyes rove the room, not missing a single detail of the space that was nearly as identical to his own room nearly a floor above.

_160 bathroom tiles, chipped plaster, a half-used bar of hotel soap, one towel used, lying on the bathroom counter...Hotch's discarded suit jacket slung over the bolted down loveseat, one sleeve inside out, the left cuff torn slightly, snagged on a tree perhaps?... _

_His holstered gun and badge were still on the bedside table, his cell phone resting on top if the precarious metallic pile, the steady vibration and the colourful, flickering glow of the cell phone echoing strangely through the room, the display lighting up again and again with the name Rossi, and then Morgan, and then Garcia..But he didn't have time to answer.. _

_Peeling wall paper on the baseboard below the phone jack, a weird orange stain on the base of the radiator...a pair of black boxer shorts hanging limply from the arm of the chair, black socks on the floor by the bed.._

_..Unshampooed carpet, littered with sock lint, Hotch's patented leather shoes, laces neatly tucked in, lined up perfectly straight against the wall... Suitcase half open, little Jillian Griffith's case file still open across a layer of clothes, a suit and trousers already selected and brushed out across the beside chair, ready for a tomorrow that it would never see, but weirdly no tie in sight..._

_Bed unmade, covers thrown to the right side...pulled down at an odd angle...and...OH!_

And that was when he spied an all too familiar arm protruding out from the floor beneath the other side of the bed.

_Hotch!_

Dressed in only a pair of black BAU sweats and strangely, his Rolex, the man was splayed out across the floor, the sheets hanging half off the bed with him, one leg cocked out as if he had hit the ground in mid step, his tussled, dark haired head resting in the crook of one arm, looking for all the world as he had simply fallen asleep like that.

He knew without having to ask what had happened, with the density of the smoke being thicker on this lower floor, and having likely been sleeping, Hotch had woken up far too late, having only been able to stumble out of bed before collapsing, oxygen depravation setting in, stealing consciousness from him at the worst possible moment. _Leaving him unable to escape, unable to wake up, ...eventually falling into a sleep that you will never wake up from.._ But not today. Not now!

He was across the room and at the man's side in seconds, nearly falling in his haste as he threw himself down to the carpet beside him. _Come on Hotch, come on!_

He shook him, grunting with effort as he pulled the man into him, letting the mans naked back rest against his chest as he shook him again, feeling the greater warmth of a man skin sinking into his own through the thin cotton of his shirt even as he yelled at him, his fingers pressing into the firm skin of his neck to check his pulse.

And his throat unclenched the slightest of bits when he found it still strong, pulsing a bit unsteady, but _strong _under his long, desperate fingers. His chest still rising and falling in a slow rhythm, making the few puffed, and still angry looking scars that dotted the mans flesh stand out stark amidst the pale tanned skin, looking more like living anchors of life then the indications of a life almost lost.

They had to get out, and get out _now_, the fire was too close, the building too fire damaged. Yet at the same time he knew the man easily had sixty pounds of bone and muscle on him, if not more..there was no way he would be able to get them out in time by dragging his dead weight.

Not knowing what else to do, sitting there with the man half in his lap, one arm braced across his naked chest, he did the only thing he could. He hauled off and _struck_ the man across the face as hard as he could, the force of slap seeming to reverberate up his entire arm, the cracking sound of flesh meeting flesh shocking even his own ears as his palm began to smart.

The mans dark eye lashes fluttered encouragingly, but he didn't have time for the man to flounder around half-conscious so he backhanded him again, feeling the heated tingle spread through his palm and into the mans face, flushing it an immediate irritated pink, the color looking strange against the mans dark haired head.

He was about to do it again when suddenly with a speed that seemed impossible, the man captured his hand just inches from his abused cheek, fingers tangling with his own, eyes alert and clear even as he struggled for breath.

"Reid..what?" Hotch gasped, the man's hand still strong around his smaller one as his back shifted along his chest until he swore he could feel every individual muscle along the mans spine collectively clench, and then relax. But the confusion in the mans eyes lasted for only a few seconds, because suddenly he saw awareness return, he saw Hotch's gaze sharpen as his eyes flickered around, taking in everything in a matter of a split second, his hand tightening around his, heat radiating between their pressed palms, traveling and sparking up through their fingertips.

And it was in one blink of those steady, dark eyes, as they finally refastened on his face, that he finally knew they were going to be all right.

"_When a heart is on fire, sparks always fly out of the mouth".~ Traditional Proverb _


End file.
